Page 5 of Forgive Me Father: For I Have Sinned

IT TOOK US ABOUTa month before some of the places we hit up daily, asking if they had any work, threw us a bone. We’d make odd deliveries for them, take out the trash, sweep the sidewalksyou name it. All the grunt work, no one else on their payroll, was willing to do. One guy even had us clean up the backyard at his house. I never knew grass could grow that tall. It took the six of us an entire day to get it cleared out.

We heard about a place with a room that we could rent, no questions asked as long as we paid cash on time the first day of every month. They wouldn’t let us see it before we moved in, but we were assured it had water, a bathroom, and electricity. What they didn’t tell us was that it was a three-bedroom apartment shared with a group of drug addicts in the south district. But at that point, we’d already given them the money and moved our mattresses into the one bedroom the six of us would be sharing. Granted, it was bigger than the shed and had utilities but the nightly parties and fights that broke out scared us to death. During the day it wasn’t so bad because the partiers were passed out. Honestly, we had no idea how many people really lived there because the place was packed with random bodies twenty-four-seven.

About four months into it, right after Cole had turned eighteen, he told us that one of the places he’d been doing work for offered him a full-time job. They were letting him rent a furnished studio apartment near their warehouse in Tacoma at a discounted rate and told him he could bring Kyle and Tommy with him. A week later, the three of them moved out. Leaving Robert, Jason, and I to our own devices. I’ll always be thankful to Cole for taking me under his wing and teaching me the ins and outs of the life we’d been thrust into. But by the same token, I was jealous that he found an escape from this life and would be living better than we were. I wished them all the luck in the world and truly hoped for the best for them, especially for little Tommy.

At that point, I was sixteen and could legally work. But even with an address, it was becoming increasingly difficult to find a legitimate job. Without Cole pitching in for the ridiculous rent they were charging us, I couldn’t help but feel like we were doomed.

After they moved out, I shifted over to their mattress. Jason and Robert seemed to need each other, and I felt like a third wheel around them. It was evident to anyone who paid attention that their relationship was progressing to the next, natural step. No longer just friends, but boyfriends, and I wouldn’t begrudge them that. They’d been through so much in their short lives and to be quite honest they made a really cute couple. They never left me out of anything group related, but I still knew they wanted some alone time.

And the cursed unloved one is once again…alone.

I continued to solicit the same businesses daily, trying to scrape together every penny I possibly could. We really needed to get out of that place and into our own studio apartment. Would it still be uncomfortable? Yeah, but that was at least livable. The nightly raves and screaming that took place outside our bedroom door were not good for any of us. It was only a matter of time before one of them overdosed, and the cops showed up. They’d take our underage asses into custody, and we’d really be fucked. Robert and I were both sixteen, but that was still too young to be on your own in the eyes of the law. Fucked up as that may be. We were far more mature than any of the adults who were supposed to be raising us.

“Hey,” Jason said one morning after Robert had left the room to shower. “I know of a job that you’d be perfect for.”

“Really? Doing what?” I asked, hopeful.

“Well, it’s um,” he reached around, nervously scratching the back of his neck, which rapidly sent up red flags. “Andre is looking for a couple of guys. Guys that look like you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I asked, my hand instantly on my hip as I took on a less than desirable stance. Unfortunately, it was the one my body chose to strike right then.

“You know, um,” he trailed off, “like a twink. Old dudes love twinks. You’d make mad money with that ass.”

“Twink? Mad money with my ass? What exactly are you getting at Jason?”

“I’m just saying, you’re super cute and could make a ton of money with your body.” He turned, pulling a change of clothes out of his bin since he was next in the shower. We tried to be cleaned up and out of the house before the others woke. Often having to step over bodies strewn across the floor on our way out the door. More times than not, we had to avoid used needles and drug paraphernalia littered about. Not to mention the bodily fluids that had been ejected. This existence wasn’t meant for man nor beast.

I said nothing more as he left the room and Robert came back.Did he seriously just suggest I sell my body for money?

Hurriedly I dressed, breezing past Robert and out the door.

I wandered aimlessly through the streets of Seattle lost in thought. Recounting his words and wondering if it would be that simple. Was selling my body something I could live with? Was it worth doing in order to upgrade our current living situation? What would happen if I got arrested? At my age, I would be thrust into the system, but in two years I’d be thrown in jail. Which was the lesser of the two evils?

Here we were, society's rejects. Miscreants. The ones no one loved. Castaways, disposed of like trash. Doing what we could to survive. The only question was, how long would it last?

One day you’re a kid, riding your bike on a warm summer’s day without a care in the world. Your hair, blowing in the wind as you raced down the long gravel trail. The errant curls tickling your face. Finding a happy release in the miserable existence of your daily life. The freedom of riding out into the unknown with no one yelling at you, no one hurting you. The next, you’re fighting to survive with what little tools you have left in your arsenal. On more than one occasion the thought of accompanying our roommates in their drug-induced haze just to get past the pain crossed my mind. Yet, somehow thus far I’d managed not to give in to that urge. Was that willpower or fear that held me back?

“Psst,” someone called out, snapping me from my pity party. I gazed around, trying to get my bearings and figure out where the hell I’d wandered off to, but nothing looked familiar. “Hey, boy.” I turned, peering into the darkness where the voice had come from. “Yeah, you. Blondie. Come ‘ere.”

Although I knew better than to do so, I walked over to the dark alleyway and straight into the hairy gut of Jabba. Muscular he was not. He was, however, rotund with half his stomach sticking out below the shirt he’d clearly purchased from the Baby Gap. That should’ve been my first clue that he wasn’t someone I should befriend. The stagnant smell of cigarettes and beer rolled off his unkempt body, only adding negative fuel to my initial assessment. I held back the gag my constricting throat muscles were desperately wishing to release. But when he spoke again, it only got worse. I could almost see the green mist his putrid breath contaminated the air with. My brain said to flee, but my legs stayed firmly in place.

“You looking for a job?” he asked, releasing a smoke plume from the drag he’d just taken off the smelly ass cigar parked between his lips.

“Maybe,” I mumbled. This man disturbed me on more levels than I could count.

He handed me a card. “Come back at midnight, we’ll see if you make the cut.” He turned, disappearing inside the metal door I’d not previously noticed was propped open. The sound of it slamming shut behind him echoed down the alley.

I looked at the card. “Our Secret Place,” was written on the front with the building’s address and suite number.

It was after dark when I finished the menial tasks a few places would give me. The worst, cleaning out a grease trap the restaurant's employees refused to do. I didn’t want to head back to our room and deal with the usual shit that took place in the evening hours. It was only a matter of time before that shit went south and we’d find our ourselves homelessagain. I went to a twenty-four-hour coffee shop, ordered a hamburger and fries along with a glass of water and sat there, flipping the card between my fingers. Staring at it as though I fully expected it to speak to me. Would it extend a warning, or would it tell me to man up and check it out?

Staring at the clock on the greasy diner wall as it hit eleven-forty-five, I paid my bill and slowly meandered back toward the place. My brain was in a fogged haze when I’d found it initially, so I didn’t really remember how I’d stumbled upon it in the first place. With my head clear looking around I saw why, it was in an area of town we mostly avoided, for obvious reasons.

“I thought I’d be seeing you tonight boy,” even hearing his voice set my teeth on edge. “Come on in, let’s see what you’ve got.”

I walked in through the smoke-filled entrance hall and into an open bar area with tables scattered throughout. Black curtains covered the walls, the floor was lined in a circa nineteen-seventies linoleum. The clientelewell let’s just say the room was filled with men that had seen better days, sadly they complimented the inside of that seedy joint like a matched set.

AC/DC’s Touch Too Muchwas blaring through the crackling overhead speakers, they too had outlived their life expectancy. The walls, the ceiling, the curtainsall were black giving the place a dungeon vibe. The bartender smirked at me as we walked past him and straight through the curtain hanging beside the bar top.

---